


Shades of Mine

by dreamlittleyo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: sammessiah, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rough Sex, Roughness, Season/Series 03, Sexual Content, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, Wordcount: 100-2.000, Wordcount: Over 1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 19:26:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's destiny doesn't quite go as planned, and when things get darker, Dean doesn't try to fight it.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Shades of Mine

When Sam finally embraces his power, it's not quite what the demons were expecting. Dean assumes as much, anyway, based on the looks of surprised terror on their faces as his little brother methodically wipes them out, one by desperate one. The human hosts never make it, and Dean knows he should still care, should be stepping up and trying to rein in the vengeance being wrought on innocent flesh.

Sam isn't evil. Dean refuses to accept that. The edges have blurred, the dark spots have gotten a little darker, but _Sam_ is still in there. It's still his brother looking at him through those eyes, even when they're black. He might be looking a little differently now, but Dean has stood back and let that happen, too.

Sam isn't evil. Just angry. And as long as he spends his rage hunting down the evil sons of bitches they let through the gate, Dean doesn't have (much) complaint. 'Some messiah,' he thinks. Because Sam told him about that, too. No reason not to and no way to hide it, standing in a charred circle with eyes gone black, blood on his knuckles from the demon that called him the Boy King and threatened Dean's life. Hell's Chosen One, driven all but mad in his mission to end every last one of them.

Dean always has to handle the holy water now, had to take the rosary out of Dad's journal so Sam could still do research. More hints that he willfully ignores, because this is _Sam_ , and maybe those eyes slide black more often than not lately, but it doesn't mean anything. It can't. Not when Sam still turns the same smile on him all the time, still bickers with him over pie and music and gets angry when Dean tries to steal his French fries.

 

Dean comes too close to shuffling off once when they take on three hell hounds at a time, and Sam is still stiff with rage long after the bodies lie smoking at his feet. Dean stands and stares from seven steps behind as long, taut minutes pass. When Sam turns those black, still furious eyes on him, Dean knows this is it. He thinks maybe his mind should rebel at the realization, but his body is alive and ready, sings with energy the second Sam descends upon him.

"You _idiot_ ," Sam snarls, voice heavy with rage. This isn't the place, a crumbling warehouse echoing empty around them, but it _is_ the time, and Dean doesn't resist when Sam shoves him hard against a sturdy pile of crates.

"Sam," he gasps. Not a protest. Never protest, but a plea, an apology, an acknowledgement of _this_ , whatever it is. He chokes on a groan when Sam shoves a knee between his thighs, harsh and possessive.

"You trying to _leave_ me, Dean?" Sam demands, grasping Dean's hair tight between his fingers and giving a cruel tug. Dean swallows hard, throat arched and staring straight into Sam's dark eyes, his brother crowding and looming and pressing in close.

"No," Dean whispers, hands braced on the corners of the crate behind him and not daring to touch. " _Never_. Sammy, I swear. I'm not going anywhere."

"Sure seems like you're trying."

"No. I just got sloppy. It won't happen again." And maybe it's a stupid thing to promise, but he can't _think_ through the drilling heat of that stare or the burning weight of Sam's body as it crushes against him. Sam shifts, deliberately sliding his knee up and harder, and Dean groans outright.

"Good," Sam whispers, bites at his throat. "You don't get to leave me, Dean. I'll drag you down from Heaven _myself_ if I have to."

Dean laughs, a harsh, humorless sound even as he grinds back down against Sam's leg. "You're not going to find me in Heaven, dude."

Sam shuts him up, then. Cuts him off with a kiss that's as much anger as want, and Dean lets him have it without an instant's hesitation. He opens readily to the prodding of Sam's tongue, welcomes the intrusion as Sam drags him closer, claiming hands suddenly touching him _everywhere_ , and Dean can feel his own knuckles going white. He lets Sam stake his ownership, lets his brother vent the possessive desperation along his body, against his lips, ignores the hint of _sick-bad-wrong_ that creeps stubbornly in.

His crate-clutching ends when Sam's huge hand slips between them and down, replacing his knee and palming Dean through his jeans before attacking the clasp and zipper. Dean's hands fly straight for Sam's collar, grasping and mindless and desperate for something to hold on to.

" _Shit_ ," he hisses, tearing free from the kiss to breathe. Sam's fingers aren't gentle, but they're sure and hot, jacking him off fast and harsh in the dusty air of this goddamned warehouse.

Sam turns him around after, just shoves him down and fucks him against the crates. It's painful and perfect and Dean isn't sure how he makes it through without splinters. Sam's dick feels like fire inside him. Hellfire, Dean thinks as he strains onto his toes with one brutal thrust. Sam's breath burns against his neck, a chant of pure obscenity ripping from his throat and reaching Dean's ears.

Dean comes a second time, the orgasm tearing out of him as Sam goes rigid, fingers digging harsh against his hips. The sound of his name on Sam's lips isn't quite human, and Dean again thinks of hellfire when Sam's dick slips free.

Sam is gentle after that. Still looming and vibrating with that air of 'mine', but his hands are kind as he insists on helping Dean tidy up. Another kiss, quick and deep, before they make their way out of the stifling murk of the warehouse and into the welcome wind outside.

"You need to be more careful, Dean," Sam says in his normal voice. When Dean glances over he sees green, human eyes and an uneasy slump of shoulders. "I mean it, man. I can't lose you. I _can't_."

Dean doesn't know what to say to that, doesn't know what reassurance he can offer beyond what he already has. So he doesn't try, just jostles Sam with his shoulder on his way to the driver's side door.

It might be his imagination, but he's pretty sure the shades of gray just got darker.


End file.
